the threads in her head

Blessings beyond Belief-

Good Friday - Via Dolorosa, Stations of the Cross. The images flash, stay, and I see blood, mutilated flesh, blood-shot eyes.

My mind thinks back about the time I somehow stumbled onto web pages describing Roman weapons of torture, of how the whips were constructed so that they not only left a sharp hot lashing, but dug into the skin. Digging in. Blood blood, more blood. Red, precious, warm, life, sacrifice.

And I realise that sometimes by the factual words of the bible, written almost report-style, I forget that beatings hurt, that there was bleeding, and above all, there was pain, real pain, not just a plaintive weak cries of a spoilt brat, but agony, separation, cutting of bonds, losing contact, and all gone. The Lamb's white wool was stained with red red blood, and as the sun rose and it dried up, it turns to a dusty caked brown, smelling of iron.

Metal-ish cold sharp smell.

All this done, before we even knew Him.

-

One part stays vividly in mind: the video about the coming of Christ. "Christ is coming! ... I want you all to keep in mind that he could come next month! He could come next week! He could come -" *A loud! BOOM, the video flashes white black, and the next minute, the scene of the crowded room has turned into a desolate one, with only a few people left behind, and those that are left behind are bewildered for a moment, shocked, stunned, and when the realisation sinks in, they sink too, down on their knees, covering their faces and wailing in anguish-

I was startled by the loud sudden boom. I think many else were. Jumped a little in my seat. My bro laughed a little at that sight of me.

But indeed, no one knows when Christ will come.

Mind thinks back about the scene during Chinese lesson on Tuesday. When we were all doing our situational essay, and suddenly! there was a a flash of bright blue-white light around the class, surrounding us, followed by a loud loud BOOM as lightning flashed and thunder rolled, and some people screamed, and others like me give a jump. It is almost identical to the scene in the video.

Very. Identical.

The thought that perhaps, just perhaps, He could have chosen to come then is sobering. It's near alright.

-

I thought I was going to be in for a long dreary sermon and all. It didn't turn out that way. Heart and mind still wandered, but otherwise pretty much stayed and was somber.

To think I was expecting to feel hollow, empty and even more disillusioned. The thoughts of escape were quelled. It's not easy to be a leader, and harder, when you only seem to be elected by people, and not called by God. The feeling of being unsuited, incapable overwhelms.

But no more thoughts of escape again for now.

And hopefully less of them in the future.

-

"Perhaps you would like to join us?"

I am not so much a little girl anymore, only among those closer to me. It is almost bewildering at times to see how my opinion is valued, how they want me on the team. Young and unstable as I am, they still treat me as an adult. Ha, almost better than an adult. "Don't ask your parents for help! They have very old-fashioned thinking. Just use your own ideas yes."

So in truth I am able to raise my opinions, be heard, and try to advocate for change, kinda. Yea. So that thing about the doors being closed and the sign put them to ask others to use the side-door, I guess I should go ask Pastor about it.

A church isn't meant to be that unwelcoming is it? Not for strangers, what more for people who are really a member of the church. There has to be better justification than no disturbance.

Not that much a little girl all right.

-

I'm not sure whether I regret not going in. Funny that I had already took the bus and all, but still chickened out at the last moment. Stupidity, thy name is Rebecca! He tells me the sermon was good, and I sigh a little at the thought of how I let the image of my own church impact me so, and letting the fear of being unwelcomed stop me. This is after all the miracles, of the first bus being the bus that would bring me there, and the lady who did kinda lead me into the church compound.

Makes me wonder how many of my actions were based on Dutch courage that came from the presence of people.

Quite a lot, I would think. Quite a lot.

But it was lovely to go up to the 40th floor, see the view, enjoy the breeze. Dropping my bag to one side and sitting down. Remembering that I have a book with me, and taking it out to read. The breeze blows in sweetly, and tousles my hair lightly, and it feels good to have such a break. Stand up, and go forward again, and pretend to be an artist, forming my two hands into a frame to border the place, and as I look through it I think, "this is how great a photograph would look."

Go back down again, this time taking the stairs, and spy the garden from up above, and it makes me laugh a little to see how many patches of empty soil there are. To think, just a few more months, and there'll be quite a lot more greenery.

-

"I'll hunt you down"

And the call ended thus and I can't help but laugh. In retrospect it's especially more funny, that the one who's apparently a rat would want to hunt one which is apparently a sparrowhawk. See, that's one you're not a rat if I'm a sparrowhawk, and I'm certainly not a sparrowhawk myself, but in both cases you're not gonna be the rat at all.

Went back to the 40th floor, as we talked and I looked on at that brown op shirt, following, tracing the patterns that orbited out. We reached, and the shadows were longer because the sky was darkening, and it was more greyish, but it took nothing away from the still as breath-taking view of woods and cities, flats and waters.

Go to the corridors and peer out at the 40 stories down below us, and it's nearly dizzy-fying. Surreal, you said, and I go forward again to look down again from the side. I am laughing as you look out at it all and take the view in.

We stop at the place where we see cities and woods, and the suggestion we wait for night is made. You exclaim, "no camera!" Laugher, as night sets in. Run down into the stairwell to continue to look out at the view, and it's glorious, it really is.

Run back up, and sit down this time, and I read my book while talking. Dubliners, by James Joyce. I'm on "A Mother", a story about a rather fussy, calculative and mean woman, but I'm unable to let myself be fully absorbed by the story, unable to imagine myself in such a setting of mean petty spirits, and it's just as well really.

The lights were few, but they twinkled in neat straight rows of rainbow stars, like a well-manicured garden. You're looking out, and taking in as much as you can, for goodness know when you can return. I tease you lightly, but I'm quite astounded by the view myself, and I know I'm blessed.

-

Off to dinner, before all the stalls close. There were some still open, but oh, the otah stall is closed. What a pity. Never mind though. You show me your fifty-dollars note to show that you are not kidding about no two-dollars note, and I listen and didn't take out your ic but took out the 50 bucks instead. A light-hearted tease about treating again, but I put it back and go get my food with my own money! Going dutch. Well, almost. In the end you still got a drink for me, when previously you had declared "no, the world is fair!" (and I insist once again that I do not eat slowly, but that there was a lot of food), and the dinner ends with laugher and smirks and remarks that you're oh-so-old! Laooooooooo-shi, only my father orders that really! I'm almost tempted to steal some too, but nah, I shall be nice.

Besides, the soya-milk was sweet enough.